


Fish Food

by supercasey



Series: Fallout 4 One-Shots [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Drowning, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Nonbinary Character, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, but not in this fic, past valencock, these two dumbasses need to work on their feelings first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercasey/pseuds/supercasey
Summary: “My pop used to take me fishing in places like this. Never caught anything that didn't try to eat us first, but damn if it wasn't fun.” While out Mirelurk hunting with Sole, Danse, and Nick, Hancock accidentally falls into the water. The problem? He can’t swim. Even after being hit with a traumatic childhood memory, he manages to find companionship from an unlikely source.





	Fish Food

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on Tumblr suggested the idea that Hancock can’t swim (let’s ignore the fact that all companions swim in-game for a minute) and I really wanted to write a fic for it. Also Hancock is trans in this so yeah (there's a flashback of when he was a kid but I just… censored his name out. No idea if I'll ever do it like that again for a trans character, since I'm trans and hate hearing my deadname, but let me know if y'all like it better this way please). Also, all Valencock in this is purely past tense and implied, as they've broken up in this AU… might get into why that is in a future fic, we'll see.

“I don’t give a damn what Bobbi No-Nose said; Mirelurks are fucking delicious and that’s just a  _ fact,” _ Sole rants, leading their pack of companions down an abandoned beach, their power armor’s loud clanking barely being muffled by the ocean tides hitting the shore. “She just didn’t cook ‘em right when she was alive; you gotta stew ‘em. That or a long boil with Brahmin butter on top.”

“You’re getting me hungry already, Sole,” Hancock teases, walking a few feet behind the pack. He’s more than happy to give himself some space while simultaneously keeping an eye on his friends. “Mirelurk stew’s pretty good, but have you ever fried it? Gets rid of that slimy texture in no time!”

“Can't really eat much anymore, but how about marinating it overnight? Used to make a mean marinade with apple juice before the war…” Nick trails off, watching the tide with a longing look in his eyes. “God, Jenny really loved it when I used that marinade with pork chops… a shame pigs didn't make it through the war.”

“You're still here, aren't ya?” Hancock jokes, earning a hearty laugh from everyone, even Danse.

“We’ll have plenty of meat to experiment with once we’re done hunting,” Danse says once his laughter dies down, trying his damnedest to keep the group focused. “How far out is this Mirelurk nest again, Sole?”

“Only a few more miles; it’s not that far from the Nakano’s place. Ey, Nick, what say we pay them a visit while we’re in the area? Wouldn't hurt to see if we could borrow one of their boats for the trip.” Sole sends a hopeful smile from over their shoulder at Nick, eager to see the family again.

Nick offers up an uninterested shrug, sounding a bit sad to be brought out of his daydreaming. “Eh, if you want to. So long as we don’t head all the way out to Far Harbor; I’m really not in the mood to get pestered by my brother.”

Hancock laughs outright. “Looks like I ain’t the only guy with brother troubles, huh Nicky?” He runs to catch up with the pack, having to jump up to swing an arm around Nick’s neck, the tall synth forced to hunch over to accommodate Hancock’s unexpected weight.

Nick grunts at the surprise attack, giving Hancock a sideways glare for spooking him. “What’s gotten into you today? You’ve been acting like an overexcited mutt all morning!”

“Just enjoying the day, Nicky. Can’t a man have fun?” Hancock asks, all too easily playing up his usual upbeat routine.

“He’s just high,” Danse says, rolling his eyes in mild disgust. He’s been getting better at tolerating Hancock in general, but the ghoul’s junkie mannerisms still irk him in a way that makes him want nothing more than to smack the grin right off Hancock’s smug little face. “I’d lay off the drugs if I were you, ghoul.”

Hancock grimaces, unimpressed by Danse’s insult. “And  _ I’d _ lay off the  _ attitude, _ tin can,” He snaps right back, his own mood getting worse out of habit. While Danse has certainly been making an effort to get better, Hancock still isn’t interested in putting up with any of the ex-paladin’s bullshit along the way. “That is, unless you wanna finally tussle with lil’ old me.” He knows he shouldn’t tease a lion with anger management issues, but damn, winding up Danse is just too rewarding to resist.

Sole, on the other hand, isn’t about to let their companions duke it out over nothing. “Break it up, boys. Danse, you and I know damn well that Hancock isn’t gonna lay off the drugs; there’s no point in scolding him for it. Hancock, you know better than to start fights with your friends. I know that you’ve had a hard week, but that’s no excuse for starting shit,” They stop their stride, turning to address the group as a whole. “We’re out here to have fun today, remember? We’re just gonna shoot some Mirelurk, cook dinner, and have a nice camp out, okay? So stop with the fighting and actually  _ try _ to get along. You guys all have a lot more in common than you’d like to admit.”

It’s not until Sole returns to leading the group that Hancock scoffs under his breath, unwrapping his arm from around Nick before he takes his place at the back of the pack again. He stifles a childish huff, kicking a stray rock into the ocean out of frustration. He hates getting scolded, especially by Sole, the vault dweller a bit too uptight and old fashioned for the ghoul’s tastes, but he supposes he sort of earned the reprimand. He  _ does _ know better than to start fights, especially with Danse, but he honestly is, like Sole mentioned, having the worst week of his life. Just a few days ago, he had to find out that the mayor of Diamond City- his once beloved and idolized big brother- was a synth spy all along. And yeah, Hancock did what he had to do and shot him, but that traitorous ache in his heart… he doesn’t see it going away anytime soon.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hancock glares at Nick, who’s currently chatting up front with Sole. At least Nick gets to  _ keep  _ his brother; at least Nick’s brother didn’t deadname him in front of everyone he cares about in an effort to guilt-trip him into helping him escape, at least Nick’s brother didn’t treat him like shit as a teen, at least Nick’s brother wasn’t replaced sometime as an adult and he doesn’t have to wonder when his brother stopped being his brother… just knowing that Nick can see his brother whenever he wants,  _ forever…  _ it hurts like nothing else. Hancock sighs halfheartedly, eyeing how Danse keeps glancing over his shoulder at him. When the ghoul catches him in the act, he doesn’t hesitate to glare hatefully at the ex-paladin, uncaring if Sole would disapprove. He feels like absolute shit right now, and if Danse just so happens to be the closest and easiest target, then fuck it, he’ll start shit; he can't bring himself to care anymore.

Danse’s eyes widen upon receiving the harsh glare, but surprisingly enough, he holds his tongue. Instead, he looks away almost shamefully, leaving Hancock to continue smoldering in his little pit of self-hate and heartbreak.

…

“Thanks again for lending us your boat, Kenji!” Nick shouts, climbing aboard alongside his friends. “We really appreciate it! We’re only gonna be hunting a little off the coast, so we should be back in a couple of hours!”

“Take as long as you need, Nick! We’re in no rush to get it back,” Kenji Nakano assures, waving the group off from his spot on the dock. “Be careful of the darker waters this time of day; the Mirelurks have been acting more aggressive than usual.”

“We’ll be careful, but thanks for the warning!” Sole says, teaming up with Danse to untie the boat and get it seaworthy. “We’ll be sure to bring back plenty of Mirelurk meat for you and the girls!”

Hancock listens to this exchange from his position on the boat, laying down with his arms behind his head to act as a pillow against the ship’s deck. He waits patiently for them to leave, wanting nothing more than to finally take his pent up anger out on some unsuspecting Mirelurks. He sighs, inhaling a lungful of salt-ridden air, reveling in the familiar rock of a boat in the water. Years ago- back when his father was still alive- Hancock had spent many a day out on the water with his father and brother, hunting Mirelurks and any other water-faring creatures that built their homes too close to their own. Life had been simpler back then… easier to keep track of. Now he can only lay here and wonder when things changed. If he had to guess, it would be around the time mom and pops died, the couple dead in their bed within a few days of each other when a bad cold fell over the whole family. After that, things had been… _ harder.  _ Hancock huffs, forcing those thoughts down.

Unexpectedly, the ship gives a heavy sway, and Hancock can’t help but chuckle as he hears Nick nearly lose his balance, the synth barely catching the guardrail before he can fall onto the ship’s deck beside the junkie. Just like that, Hancock knows that they’re leaving, not even having to open his eyes to know that the boat has begun sailing into deeper waters. The ghoul does, however, open his eyes as he sits up, stretching his back with a satisfying pop, the fluttering breeze making him feel lighter than a feather… either that, or it’s the remnants of his last hit of jet. Hancock stands, enjoying the sensation of the tides rolling underneath the ship’s hull, the gentle rocking reminding him so much of his youth, it’s almost soul-crushing, but not in a way that actually hurts him. Hancock can’t help but grin, running to the front of the ship to look over the vast sea, admiring the view from his perch on the guardrail, having to jump onto it to get a good enough view.

“Be careful, John!” Nick calls, too afraid to let go and stand beside him. Unlike his friends, if he falls into the water, it won’t end well; his exposed cybernetics would no doubt be damaged by the heavily irradiated water, not to mention that he’d likely sink, what with all the metal dragging him down. Yeah, he’d really rather  _ not _ find out how terrible that would end up being.

“I’m  _ fine,  _ Nicky!” Hancock assures, unafraid of the open water. In the back of his mind, he gets the uncanny feeling that he should be  _ very _ afraid, something young and forgotten  _ begging him _ to hold onto someone- anyone- but he pushes that thought away in favor of savoring the sweet smell of the ocean breeze. “Not like this is my first time out at sea!” He adds, as Nick is very much aware of most of the things the ghoul did in his youth… both good  _ and _ bad.

“You’ve done this before?” Danse inquires, coming to stand beside Hancock at the front of the ship. When he receives an unimpressed look, he’s quick to correct himself. “I-I don’t mean to come off as insulting, I just… I never took you for the seafaring type.”

He’s trying to be nice, Hancock will fully admit that. Out of pity, and to show that he also kinda wants to try bonding, Hancock flashes the ex-paladin a mischievous grin. “Yeah, me and my older brother went fishing with our pops all the time as kids. We usually didn't catch much, but damn if it wasn’t fun. Pops would teach us how to read maps and fix the sails, but he never could teach us to swim… never had the patience for it, and had no idea where to start. Not that it mattered, ‘cus Guy learned by himself, so it wasn’t like we were both hopeless.” He doesn’t know what comes over him, to dump so much information about his childhood, but he’s chosen to blame it on still being a tad high.

“You can’t  _ swim!? _ Then get off the guardrail, ya dumbass!” Sole orders, their protectiveness coming out in full swing.

“I already said I’m fine, Sole!” Hancock repeats, internally snarling in response to the overprotective pestering. Try as he might, he’s never been able to tolerate how parental Sole gets when he so much as stubs a toe. “It’s not like I’m hurting anyone!”

“You’d better listen, John. The waters here are rough, and you’re small enough that the winds alone’ll probably toss you in!” Nick says, joining in, although he isn't doing it to be parental so much as concerned.

Hancock actually lets his anger show this time, forgetting his good mood as he climbs further up the guardrail, until he’s balancing on the metal beam with only his feet. Offhandedly, he notices Danse inch closer, the soldier internally debating on whether or not to intervene. “What was that, buddy? I can't hear you over the tide! You really think I can’t handle a few rough waves, Nicky? You’re not my fuckin’ dad, so step off!”

Nick scowls at Hancock, opening his mouth to scold him again, but whatever he says is lost to Hancock as, rather suddenly, a big bump in the waves causes him to lose his balance. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion, and for once he knows it’s not the Jet, as he hasn’t had a big enough dose in recent memory to cause such a strange sensation. In any case, the world slows as Hancock falls backwards into the water, the earth shattering screams of horror from his companions becoming muffled as water floods his ear holes. Even now that he’s underwater, the slow motion continues, as Hancock floats underneath the roaring waves, unable to make much out. He can see the light overhead, but that’s about it. It’s only when he blinks, his eyes focused on what he hopes is the sea above, that he’s triggered back into a long forgotten trauma, slowly but surely losing himself to the past.

_ He’s nine years old. No, he’s ten; he just turned ten a few days ago. Guy was mean on his birthday, but Mom got him a new dolly (another that he'll subtly ignore) and Papa promised to take him fishing… which is happening right now. A ten year old S***** McDonough bounces excitedly as his- yes his, because he already knows that he might be a boy by now, but no one has to know just yet, not until he’s sure- father unties the little wooden boat they’ve been using for years, the older man shooting S***** a bright grin. Off to the side, Guy rolls his eyes, wanting nothing more than to go to work, but instead he has to go fishing with his stupid little brother and his overbearing father. Thankfully, he keeps those thoughts to himself, flashing S***** a fake smile whenever he looks his way, not wanting to be needlessly cruel to the kid on his birthday trip. _

_ “We’re finally gonna go! I’m so excited! I’m gonna catch a full grown Lurker!” S***** declares, unable to contain his adrenaline at the prospect of hunting. He hasn’t been allowed to go hunting in months- not since Mom started saying how he needs to begin learning how to be a 'good housewife’- but today his father has finally convinced Mom that he can go again. _

_ “Easy there, my little Deathclaw,” Papa chides, though his smile gives him away. He can try all he likes to be stern, but he’s just as excited to have his hunting buddy back as S***** is. “We’ll be out soon enough. Do you remember what to do once we’re in the water?” _

_ S***** immediately stops his bouncing, straightening up in a way that Mom might’ve been proud of were she to see him, but alas, she’s currently in Diamond City visiting a friend. “No rockin’ the ship, ‘cus it can flip over super easy. No jumping inta the water, ‘cus Mirelurks can snap your feet off. And stay close to Guy, ‘cus he can swim and I can’t.” _

_ “And wear your life jacket too, half-pint!” Guy adds, tossing the orange inflatable at his brother, laughing when the force of the throw knocks S***** over. _

_ “Guy! Be gentle with your sister!” Papa scolds, before finally untying the last knot on the boat’s makeshift anchor. He then helps S***** to his feet, kneeling down to dust off the boy’s overalls. “But yes, you do need to wear your life jacket, sweetheart.” _

_ S***** pouts, but otherwise doesn’t argue as he clips on the oversized life jacket. It’s far too big for him, but it’s all they have. “But, papaaaaaa! How’m I gonna hunt if I can hardly move my arms!?” _

_ Guy steps in, handing his brother a swatter. “You swat ‘em, we drop ‘em,” He offers, ruffling the young boy’s hair. “Just stay out of the way and we might actually catch something.” _

_ “Guy…” Pa’s voice drops, subtly reminding his eldest son that he’s nearby. “Be nice; this is her birthday trip after all.” With that said, he helps S***** into the boat, saving him the embarrassment of having to waddle. _

_ The memory skips a few minutes, until they’re all out in the water, their little sailboat somehow staying upright despite the rougher waters. Noticing this, Papa hums in disappointment, giving the surrounding water a cautious look. “I dunno about this, gang… maybe we oughta pack it up and try again tomorrow…” _

_ “Oh thank God,” Guy mutters, glad to have an excuse to call off this lousy fishing trip. “Maybe if we’re lucky I won’t miss work after all.” _

_ “But… but…” S***** can’t keep himself from tearing up, tears saltier than the water as they drip down his face and onto his life jacket. “I thought we were gonna hunt today… you promised.” _

_ Papa sighs, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, baby girl… we’ll try again tomorrow. We just can’t risk it, not with the waters being this rough.” _

_ Still, S***** continues to cry. “But you  _ promised!” _ He sobs, feeling like the world is entirely unfair. He knows that he’s far too old to be pitching a fit- Mom would lose her shit if she found out that he cried- but it’s not like he  _ wants  _ to cause trouble! He just wants to go fishing with his dad and brother, and he’s worried that if they keep calling it off that Mom will change her mind, and then he’ll never get to go fishing again. _

_ “Oh,  _ shut up!”  _ Guy yells, smacking his little brother upside the head. “It’s not the end of the world! We’ll try again tomorrow, okay ya little twerp!? So suck it up and stop crying!” _

_ “Guy, how many times have I-” Whatever Papa says gets cut off, as within a moment, the yelling attracts unwanted attention in the form of a hulking Mirelurk embedding it’s pinchers into the boat, managing to catch S***** by his life jacket. _

_ Unceremoniously, the Mirelurk yanks S***** into the water, slashing open the life jacket on impact. Not that it matters, as it slips off without much fuss due to being too large, leaving S***** to sink under. The boy thrashes violently, but to no avail, as before he can even  _ try _ to climb back into the ship, another Mirelurk grabs hold of his foot, dragging the little boy down, down, down. He screams, unintentionally inhaling a lungful of salt water, as he tries to kick at the monster trying to kill him, but it’s no use; he’s too small. Was Mom right? Is he really not meant to hunt with his father and big brother anymore? It’s not like S***** will have a chance to figure it out; this is surely the end for him. _

_ However, just as he’s giving up hope, the Mirelurk let’s go. He’s free! Even though he’s lost a lot of oxygen and his head hurts, S***** tries to swim to the surface, but he can’t figure out which way is up! And to make matters worse, something else seems to have come for him. Trying to find the source of his anxiety, S***** swings his head this way and that, looking for the Mirelurks from before, but they’ve all gone away. What happened? Did they get bored? His answer comes in the form of a shimmer gliding past the boy. S***** tries to follow the movement, but this causes his head to pound harder. Biting back a groan, he curls in on himself, grabbing at his head. _

_ In that moment, the newly arrived monster finally makes itself known. Without any warning, a webbed, claw-tipped hand digs into S*****’s leg, beginning to drag the little boy towards itself. Not wanting to become fish food, S***** kicks out again, this time managing to kick the monster in what he presumes to be it’s ugly face. Seconds later, an earth shattering scream from the monster makes S*****’s ears bleed, and it becomes all too clear what’s caught him; a Mirelurk King. He’s only heard about them a few times in school, but he's learned enough to know that Mirelurk Kings are notoriously deadly, with a body count that’s sometimes compared closely to that of a Deathclaw’s. That fact alone is enough to convince S***** that he’s as good as dead. _

_ And yet, despite the odds clearly being in the Mirelurk King’s favor… it let’s him go. Or at least, that’s how S***** remembers it, as the claws withdraw from his leg, the only sensation remaining being a stinging, sharp ache in his injured calf; for the rest of his life, that calf will have phantom pains from the injury, the long scars left behind reminding the boy of his near-death experience. With no energy left to fight, and water filling his lungs, S***** finally gives up the fight, losing consciousness just as two arms wrap themselves around his torso, pulling him towards the light. _

…

The world is white noise. Whether or not this is actually true is hard to tell, with Hancock's brain struggling to wake itself up.

For whatever reason, Hancock feels stuck between two points in time; ten years old and drowning, and half-asleep in a stranger’s bed. Squirming in place, Hancock tries his hand at grounding himself in reality; such exercises have never worked with drug trips, but they’ve helped when he’s had panic attacks. Barely conscious, Hancock runs his fingers over the linen he’s lying on. The sheets are a bit stiff- not washed with homemade fabric softener like Sole’s bed sheets in Sunshine- so he’s definitely not back at the co-op, so that must mean he’s not drowning anymore. The sheets are still dry, and Hancock’s back against the bed is enough reassurance to convince him that he’s survived his ordeal, even if he doesn’t remember how he got out of it.

Slowly, Hancock looks to a nearby window, squinting at the harsh sunlight that burns his retinas on impact. It’s not sunrise anymore, like it was when he first set off to sea, the sun instead beginning to set, judging by the darker shades of orange and purple. Even so, Hancock can only just make out the colors, too exhausted to try sitting up just yet. His head hurts like nothing else, but the soft song of a wind chime soothes him instead of hurts him, so at least this isn’t a hangover. Biting back a pained moan, Hancock rolls onto his side, looking around for any sign of life. To his surprise, he finds none other than Paladin Danse at his bedside, the ex-brotherhood diehard napping upright in a wooden chair.

Hancock decides not to wake him just yet, opting instead to finally gather the courage to sit up. The ghoul can’t help but groan, his body aching in all the wrong places at the change of positions, especially because this one requires more energy. Glancing at his lap, Hancock is surprised to find that his frock coat and jeans are gone, replaced with an oversized grey t-shirt and… nothing else. Hancock would blush if he had more modesty, but years of close-quarters living in Goodneighbor, alongside a childhood spent with a shared bedroom, have erased any sense of dignity concerning nudity from Hancock’s mind. Besides, it’s not like the too big t-shirt isn’t easily able to cover him, the clothing offering him plenty of privacy.

Though now Hancock is left wondering who it belongs to. He glances again at Danse, only to realize that the ex-paladin is shirtless, meaning… Hancock gives the shirt he's wearing a subtle sniff, unable to hold back a smirk when he’s greeted by the familiar stench that is Paladin Danse; it reeks of sweat and coolant, but in a way that isn’t too overwhelming. Still, the smell is enough to cause another pound in Hancock’s headache, the ghoul wincing as it hits him. He rests his back against the headboard of his newfound bed, eyeing the seaside view to distract himself from the pain. As much as he’d rather just go back to sleep, he knows he needs answers first… Hancock sighs, sending Danse’s unconscious form a tired look.

“Ey… what happened last night?” Talking makes his head hurt even worse, but Hancock’s desire for more information is stronger than the pain, at least for the time being.

Danse stirs, his brow furrowing in his sleep. After a long pause, the soldier finally yawns, sitting up with screwed shut eyes, his expression reflecting how exhausted he still is. Slowly, he opens his eyes, focusing them immediately on Hancock. “… I’m surprised you’re up,” Danse’s voice is a bit worn out, but he manages to keep it steady enough to speak clearly. “Sole was scared that you were in a coma.”

Hancock blinks, rubbing at his forehead to try and sooth his headache. “What happened?” He again asks, this time hoping to get a more coherent answer.

Danse stands up, before taking a seat on the bed beside Hancock. “We were on a fishing trip with Sole and Valentine… you were standing on the guardrail, but you lost your footing and fell in. Sole and the synth can’t swim, and I was closest at the time, so I jumped in after you. Sole helped me get you back on-board and we rushed you back to shore. You’ve been unconscious for-” He snatches Sole’s Pip-boy off the nightstand, squinting at the bright screen. “-Twelve hours. You’re lucky I know how to swim, ghoul, or you’d be Mirelurk food right now.”

A heavy silence overtakes the bedroom, neither man wishing to speak. Hancock sighs, heavily, as he tries to recall the event, but all he draws up is a big blank. “… Aren’t you from the Capital Wasteland? When’d you learn how to swim? Could’ve sworn they don’t got many big lakes or oceans that way…”

Danse shrugs halfheartedly. “We’re still on the coast,” He offers, refusing to meet the ghoul’s eyes. “But no, I didn’t learn in the ocean. There was an abandoned pool near where I grew up… my friends and I would go swimming there after the adults cleared out the Raiders. I spent a lot of time swimming in that pool; I figured it would be a good skill to have if I ever wanted to survive on my own," He then cracks the faintest smile, a look of nostalgia in his eyes. "It was also a lot of fun, especially once my friends learned how to swim, too."

Hancock nods in agreement. “My brother did the same. He was way better at swimming than me, or even our pops. He didn’t like swimming though, always bitched about how it was too exhausting. He preferred staying inside and studying.”

Again, there’s a pause. Hancock keeps glancing at Danse, unsure of where to start. Here they are, Sole’s most opposite companions, and one has saved the other’s life. Hancock wants to do a thousand things right now- pump drugs into his body until it finally kills him, throw himself back into the ocean just for the chance to see his father again, wrestle Danse just to have his muscled, bulky body on top of him- but he eventually settles on doing the thing he should’ve done the moment he woke up. “Um… thanks for saving my life, man. Not every day that someone puts their life on the line for someone like me.” He doesn't quite look at Danse when he thanks him, focusing instead on the bed sheets.

This earns a surprised expression from Danse, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by military issued humility. “You’re welcome, John.” He keeps it short and simple, not wanting to jinx himself into saying something rude or inappropriate.

Hancock shoots him a crooked smile in response, leaning over to wrap an arm around Danse’s shoulders. The ex-paladin stiffens, but otherwise doesn’t try to push the ghoul away. So far so good. “So… how did a tin can like you wind up in the Bullshit of Steel anyways? Born into it?” Since they’re on the subject of childhood, he figures it’s a good place to start bonding from.

“It’s the  _ Brotherhood  _ of Steel, and no, I wasn’t  _ ‘born into it’... _ I joined as a teenager. Spent most of my childhood scavenging the DC ruins alongside my friend, Cutler. We both joined up when we were sixteen; figured it would be better than spending our lives just barely scraping by,” Danse sighs, running a hand through his short hair, scowling at the greasy texture. Once they’re home, he’ll need to wash off in the lake by Sunshine. “We were split off after basic, and I lost track of him… that is, until he went missing. I led a squad for three weeks trying to track him down, only to find him transformed into a Super Mutant in a Mutant Hive. I had no choice; I killed him. It was better than letting him become a monster.”

Hancock sits beside Danse through his story, swallowing around a lump in his throat. It's no wonder Danse is so violent against mutants; his best friend got turned into one! Unsure of what else to do comfort-wise, the ghoul leans himself against Danse, hugging the man in an attempt to comfort him. “That’s rough, buddy.” He mutters, feeling awkward and insensitive. He wishes he could do more, but he knows that it’s out of his hands.

Danse nods, barely even registering the hug. After a moment, he turns to Hancock, giving the ghoul a concerned look. “When I pulled you out, we had to get your clothes off, since they were soaking wet… I’m sorry for looking.”

Blushing somewhat, Hancock ducks his head, letting go in an instant to turn his body away from the other man. “Uh,  _ yeah…  _ don’t worry about it,” His face feels warm as he realizes what Danse is getting at, the ghoul having to force himself not to react aggressively in response to being unintentionally outed. “It’s not exactly something I like to talk about… I’m John Hancock, and that’s all you need to know as far as names go.”

Danse doesn’t even sound offended. “I completely understand; we had a small handful of transgender members in the Brotherhood, and I would never do anything to disrespect them," He’s definitely trying to be understanding, something that Hancock deeply appreciates. Slowly, he reaches an arm out, and although he does so awkwardly, he pulls Hancock back in for another hug. "I'm, um, sorry for making you uncomfortable by bringing it up; that was inappropriate of me, no matter my intentions. As far as I'm concerned, you're just another friend of Sole's… someday, I hope you'll be my friend, too."

"You are the single most awkward motherfucker I have ever met," Hancock says, but he's unable to contain a chuckle as he roughly pats the ex-paladin's back, leaning into the heavy embrace. "But hey, I'll say this; you ain't nearly as shitty as I thought you were, and that's on me for making assumptions. Maybe once we're back in Sunshine, you can show me how to swim so we can put this behind us."

Danse rolls his eyes, smirking a fair amount. "Sorry, ghoul, but I'm pretty sure teaching you to swim is a lost cause. You have the swimming potential of a dead molerat," He suddenly freezes, blushing scarlet. "I'm so sorry, that was-"

But Hancock's laughing in no time, collapsing against Danse as he dissolves into uproarious laughter. "Hahaha! Goddamn, I hope you're this funny with a few beers in ya! Remind me to get you tipsy next time Sole feels like throwin' a party. Hell, we should throw a party when we get home, seeing as you saved my life and all."

Danse averts his eyes, continuing to blush redder than a stop sign. "… Only if Sole says it's okay." He mutters, embarrassed, but not so much that he can hide the smallest trace of a smile.

They stay like that for awhile longer, Hancock more or less sitting in Danse's lap as he rambles ideas to his new companion, while Danse just sits there and nods along, offhandedly rubbing Hancock's back. By the time Hancock has run out of things to ramble about, his throat has grown incredibly sore, noticeable despite him being a ghoul. Danse, still trying to be nice, gets up to grab his friend some purified water, but before Danse can open the door, it almost seems to open on it's own, revealing Sole on the other side, the vault dweller looking completely exhausted… Hancock wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been stressing out about his companion’s health for the last few hours. Sole slowly steps into the bedroom, making a beeline for Hancock, who they look over with an appraiser's eye, checking for anymore injuries or blemishes.

Hancock squirms, pushing at Sole to get them to let go of him. "Jesus, Sole, I'm fine! Come on now, a little swim ain't gonna kill me!"

Sole huffs, shaking their head. "It will if the swimmer can't fucking swim," They point out, voice stern. "You damn near gave me a heart attack, Hancock… promise me you'll never do something that stupid again, okay?"

Hancock rolls his eyes, but obliges. "Yeah yeah… I promise to be more careful next time, Sole," He assures, though he flashes Danse a sultry wink. "'Course, there ain't any need to worry when I've got Dancer here watching my back."

Both Sole and Danse are surprised by this. "Really?" Sole asks, disbelief obvious in their tone. "You two are getting along now?"

Danse shrugs, appearing almost unsure. "I suppose we are," He says, before giving Hancock a subtle glare. "But if you do something that foolish again, I'll let you drown. Hell, I’ll throw you in myself."

Hancock smirks. "No you won't." He says this very matter-of-factually, his grin wide and amused.

Danse scowls outright. "Don't push your luck, John." He warns, but deep down he's laughing at all of this nonsense; he'll be damned if he let's Sole catch on, though.

Sole just laughs, amused by their companions' light-hearted teasing; it's much better than trying to keep them from mauling each other, though Sole wishes it hadn't taken a near death experience to convince their friends to start getting along. "Well, either way, I think that's enough teasing for one day," They suggest, all while helping Hancock to his feet, tempted to pick the ghoul, but one glare from the junkie has them thinking better of it. "How do you two feel about staying for dinner with the Nakano’s? Seeing as their daughter's visiting Far Harbor this month, they’ve both been pretty lonely these last few weeks; since they let us stay here for a bit to take care of John, I figure it wouldn't hurt to stay a little longer and keep them company. Are you two okay with that?"

Hancock blinks- oh, so  _ that's  _ where he is- before nodding in agreement. "Sounds fine, Sole," He agrees, turning to raise a nonexistent eyebrow at Danse. "How about you, Tin Man?"

Danse rolls his eyes at the nickname, but is otherwise onboard. "It's only right that we return the favor in some way… so long as they aren't serving Mirelurk." He visibly winces, a hand pressed to his stomach.  
  
Both Sole and Hancock laugh uproariously at Danse's reaction, thoroughly amused by the resident deserter. Deep down, Hancock doubts this is the end of his and Danse's arguments- they're just too different to see eye to eye at all times, especially when they're both fairly competitive- but he can't bring himself to mind. After all, even if they end up fighting every day over stupid shit, the ghoul knows that, under the surface, Danse truly  _ does  _ care about him, and wants to make amends for his crimes against mutant kind… it'll just take some time to figure out how to make that work. In the meantime, well… Hancock is gonna keep Danse's shirt for as long as he can get away with.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this unfinished in my drafts for over half a year, working on it off and on as I get in and out of playing Fallout 4… this fic means a lot to me though, and I’m glad I finally got it done. Lemme know in the comments if you want more Fo4 fics from me in the future (if this fandom is even still alive), and I'll see what I can do.


End file.
